Three Months
by Eliana Panthera
Summary: Ziva was dysfunctional and unhealthy, and she was pretty sure Kate was too. -Kate/Ziva-


**Title: **Three Months

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Angst, Fluff, Romance

**Pairing(s): **Kate/Ziva

**Character(s): **Ziva David, Kate Todd

**Summary: **Ziva was dysfunctional and unhealthy, and she was pretty sure Kate was too.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned it, they would be married. And Vance and Eli would both be dead.

**Author's Notes: **I abuse Kate and Ziva too much. I realize this. But I really liked this idea, and I wasn't going to _forget _about it. So this happened. And I'm really proud of it.

This hasn't been beta'd, so there are probably typos. I apologize. I'll try to fix them later.

XXX

Ziva and Kate spent three months and nine days together, talking about everything unimportant, smelling the scent of both their own blood and sweat and that of each other, and seeing each other at their weakest.

Under those circumstances, becoming close did not take long. By the second month, when Salim and his men no longer bothered to tie them to chairs and threw them on the dust instead, they were best friends. Ziva was pretty sure that she had never trusted someone more than she did Kate. There was no one else to trust, and Ziva had to settle all of that on Kate's shoulders. But the brunette accepted Ziva's baggage without argument, and Ziva did the same for her.

Kate was here because Ari was close to Salim and his men, and he decided to fake her death and bring her here in case they could get something useful out of her. Ziva thought three months and nine days was a long time. She could only imagine what more than four _years_ was like.

She explained all of this to Tony and McGee, when they looked extremely shocked to Ziva and even more so when they saw Kate. It was obvious that they did not truly believe it, but they helped Kate out as well when they escaped.

The whole way home, Kate and Ziva stayed together instinctively. Their arms touched very lightly as they sat next to each other on the plane and walked down the tarmac. When Abby saw them, touched their cheeks and started crying, they stayed close together. When the taller woman hugged them, they both wrapped their outside arms around her body, and Ziva heard Kate start crying into Abby's shoulder.

Without thinking, Ziva scooted over so her arm was pressed even more against Kate's.

The sense of security that followed made all of her fears fade away.

XXX

It was Kate's idea for them to share an apartment.

Ziva did not really approve of the suggestion―she wanted to be able to wallow in bad memories and have horrible nightmares _in peace_. But Kate had looked at her with those pleading eyes―the ones filled with the pain and brokenness that Ziva was sure reflected in her own gaze―and she could not really say _no_.

It was not as horrible as Ziva thought it would be. She and Kate split bills and the cleaning of the house, and they took turns comforting each other after particularly horrible nightmares. One night, Kate would wake up, crying or screaming or both, and Ziva would hum a lullaby or tell her about anything that was not related to deserts and torture and terrorists. Then, the next night, Kate would do the same for her. It was dysfunctional and unhealthy.

But Ziva was dysfunctional and unhealthy, and she was pretty sure Kate was too. So it fit. It _worked_.

And as long as it worked, and as long as the memories still haunted them, things would stay the same.

XXX

_One. Two. Three. Four. _

Ziva's fingers danced over the fresh scars as she counted them. She did this a lot―sitting in her bedroom or the shower or even the living room, counting the scars that she had gained over the last few months. They stood out starkly against her skin, various shades of white and pink. There were twelve of them in various shapes, sizes, and places.

She had just gotten to number eight―the jagged, puckered tear above her left hip―when Kate walked into the room. Ziva yanked down her shirt, not wanting Kate to know about her ritual. The brunette tried to keep them from focusing on Somalia too much, and Ziva's scar-counting and the agonizing memories it brought to life in her brain could be considered 'focusing too much'.

"What are you doing?"

Ziva sighed, pulling her shirt up a couple inches. Her fingers ran delicately over Scar Number Eight, as if touching it too hard would rip it back open and pull her back to the heat and sun and dust. "I…" She started, then realized that there was no way to lie in a way that Kate would believe. She did not want to lie, anyway, "I was counting them. The scars."

There was a pause, in which Kate simply stared at her, leaning in the kitchen doorway. Her hands curled into weak fists at her side, and she studied the Israeli with something unreadable on her face. Then her voice came out as a weak whisper, "You do that too?"

Ziva pursed her lips, and their eyes met. It connected them momentarily, and Ziva felt _something_ pull them closer. An understanding, a connection that had not been there before formed itself, and Ziva felt like she could rip herself open and tell Kate everything that she was feeling, as if the other woman was a diary.

"Every day," Ziva whispered, and Kate walked over and sat beside her on the couch. The brunette looked like Ziva had just freed a huge weight from her shoulders. She probably had. Simply by letting Kate know that she was not alone, "I have twelve. From Somalia."

Kate chewed on her bottom lip and replies, "I have nineteen. Most of them are from…from that time they broke a chair over my back." She looked upset, and it was obvious that the revelation brought up horrible memories.

Usually, they did not touch each other much. It was an unspoken yet fiercely understood rule. But Ziva felt herself wanting to break it, and something told her that right now, she was allowed.

Very gently, she rested her hand on Kate's thigh in some sort of comforting gesture. There was a long pause, then Kate let out a hard, shuddering breath and let her head rest on Ziva's shoulder. They stayed like that for as long as they could, simply breathing and remembering.

Then the oven beeped in the kitchen, nagging at Kate to come get the food before it burned. Ziva released her thigh, and Kate carefully pushed herself to her feet. Neither spoke. It would ruin the moment.

As Kate turned and glanced at her once more before disappearing into the kitchen, Ziva pulled the corners of her mouth up the best she could.

It was not a smile. And it was not reassuring.

But it was close enough.

XXX

Ziva's world fell to pieces exactly two months after their return to America.

Kate stood in front of her, hands jammed nervously into the back pockets of her jeans. She had pushed her weight on to the balls of her feet, and she looked almost like a bird, ready to fly away. Her green eyes were filled with pain and fear and the wetness of unshed tears, and Ziva swallowed thickly and tried not to vomit.

"You are pregnant."

It was not a question or a statement. Just a string of words, spoken in an attempt to understand them. Kate swallowed hard enough for Ziva to hear it from across the room. She looked her feet, chewing on her lip, "That night…a couple weeks before we were rescued…I…I wasn't cooperating. So they raped me. Over and over. And…I know they did it to you, but they never did it to me until then. I was just screaming and crying and I wanted to…to die, right there. And now I'm pregnant because of it."

Forgetting was already going to be almost impossible. But with a child to remind them, it was going to be even worse, "What…what are you going to do?"

"I'm keeping it, Ziva. I…refuse to give them the satisfaction of breaking me and making me feel guilty for giving this child away, even if they're dead" Kate's voice was startlingly firm, completely unfitting with her body at the moment. She looked like she was collapsing under the weight of her own body, as if her bones were disintegrating into dust.

For a moment, Ziva said nothing. Then she muttered, "Come here" because there was nothing else to stay. Kate walked over and simply studied Ziva's face for a moment, searching for sincerity. Finally, she found it and collapsed into the Israeli's arms, sobs ripping from her throat as her body trembled.

After the first few days of freedom, their need for touching had disappeared. They had that moment a few days before and, once, Ziva had held Kate's hand for a brief second. But they had never really _hugged_, and Ziva felt extremely awkward doing it. But it seemed so _right_ at the same time, and she did not let go.

They would get through this together.

Somehow.

XXX

Ziva woke with a jolt, her breath catching in her throat, her chest heaving. She made out the shape of Kate's body standing over her, and blinked at the other woman, trying not to cry.

"Are you okay?"

Kate had asked the question, but Ziva knew that she didn't truly expect an answer. She already knew it. Ziva was not okay. She probably never would be completely okay ever again. Neither of them would be. Kate was _pregnant_, Ziva was _broken_, and they were both _afraid _(even though they would never admit it).

"No," Ziva muttered, and without really thinking, without really knowing why, she reached up and pulled Kate's face to hers.

The kiss was rough, raw, almost animalistic. Ziva needed it though. She needed the contact. And some sort of wordless understanding passed between the two of them, because Kate kissed her back. She tangled her fingers in Ziva's hair and kissed her so hard it hurt.

Ziva could feel herself crying, but she did not care. She did not want to focus on the pain. It was too much to bear, to feel her heart ripping in two over and over again. She instead let Kate's lips overtake her; let herself fall into the bruising kiss.

When they broke apart, Kate's lips were swollen and darkened with forming bruises. Ziva knew she should feel guilty for causing that. But she did not.

She watched Kate turn, walking around the bed. Ziva felt the brunette settle beside her―not far away, but not touching her. The sound of her breathing was comforting, and Ziva ran her tongue over her lips. They still tasted like Kate, mixed with the salty tang of her own tears and the ones that Kate had cried as well.

Ziva had no more nightmares that night.

XXX

Kate sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out the window and absently running her palm over the faint bulge of her belly. She was almost five months pregnant, and had just now started showing. It was almost invisible to everyone except them. Because the child growing inside of Kate's body was made of memories and scars and things that only they knew about and it was impossible _not _to know it was there.

They did this a lot. They got in the car and drove until they ran out of road or gas, or until it got late and one of them started falling asleep. But, for the first time, Ziva had a destination in mind.

Kate did nothing to question her when they pulled up at the beach. She simply stared out the window, chewing on her bottom lip. Ziva climbed out of the car and, a moment later, Kate did so too.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, shoulders _almost _touching. They soaked in the waves lapping at the shore without touching them. Then Ziva took off her shoes and walked into the sand. Her feet sunk in, and for a moment, she was dragged back to the hot sand and the sun in that horrible desert.

"Why are we doing this to ourselves?" Kate asked when she joined Ziva a moment later, sandals in her left hand. It was a cruel, sick sort of game, standing there in the sand. The air around them was only in the 60's, and there was a faint breeze that erased some of the realism. But it was still there enough for it to hurt.

Ziva walked in the direction of the water and replied, "I…wanted to see if I was strong enough. To be here. But…I felt like I would only be able to stay in the sand if you were there."

"Oh," Kate replied, in a weak voice, and Ziva expected her to walk back to the car. But instead she followed, her dark hair blowing lightly around her face, her blue skirt wrapping around her legs. They walked together through the sand, feeling it shift from dry to wet beneath their feet.

The water licked at their toes, wrapping around their bare feet. It washed way the sand and the memories, and Ziva let herself forget for a moment, staring at the calm water and the setting sun as it disappeared into the barely-existent waves.

Kate breathed quietly, slowly beside her. Ziva closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the water and the woman next to her. She took in the smell of the sea salt and the orange-and-vanilla scent that clung to Kate's body. For a few moments, she forgot everything. She was somewhere peaceful, an escape.

A particularly hard wave hit her feet and splashed her calves, snapping her from her momentary safety. She let her eyes open, noting how the sun had sunk even more. Ziva turned and focused on Kate, and almost smiled. The brunette looked calm and _unafraid_, much like Ziva imagined her to look―back when she thought the brunette was dead and she only had Tony and Abby's stories to go by.

"You are going to make a good mother," Ziva said, because she could just _tell_. The peaceful, neutral expression faded into a mixture of a frown and a bitter smile. It was a crooked mudslide of an expression, and Ziva willed it to disappear. It did not seem right.

Kate's eyes stayed closed as she muttered, "Maybe I am. And so are you."

Ziva said nothing. She knew that Kate expected her to help raise this child―she had, sort of, silently promised that she would the day she found out. But she did not know if she _could_. She had so much bitterness and so many unresolved issues. The child did not deserve that. But at least it had Kate, and all of her strength and beauty and intelligence, to grow up on.

"Come on, let's go home. My feet are getting cold," Kate said, and Ziva nodded.

They said nothing to each other the rest of the way home.

XXX

"What are we? Friends with benefits? Lovers? Something else entirely?"

Ziva did not mean to ask that question. It just…slipped out. But it was too late to take it back, and it hung in the air between them. Ziva realized that she really wanted to _know_. What were they? It never seemed clear. Sometimes they seemed like lovers―sitting as close together as possibly, sharing knowing looks, and things of the like (they had not kissed again, though). Other times, they seemed more like friends―keeping a healthy difference and talking about unimportant things.

The Israeli watched as Kate bit into her sandwich. She chewed for a moment, not looking at Ziva, not really looking at _anything _really. After she swallowed, she shrugged her left shoulder and said with heavy truthfulness in her voice, "I don't know, Ziva."

Ziva did not respond, because that did not really answer her question. But she did not want to say anything because she could tell that Kate had no answers for any of her questions. Things were too hard to figure out these days. Ziva was pretty sure that she liked Kate _like that_, but emotions and feelings had become unimportant in Somalia and she still had not really regained and repaired them.

"It's…complicated," Kate said, and Ziva knew that was all she was going to get. It was true, after all. There was nothing to describe their relationship except for 'complicated'. Ziva knew that she would have to settle for that.

She nodded, sighed, and went to make herself a sandwich.

XXX

Ziva was not expecting Kate to appear in her bedroom, or to slip into her bed next to her. But the numbers 3:10 glared at her from the clock, and Kate was there in the dark silence of Ziva's bedroom. The Israeli pretended to sleep, not wanting to really talk. She never made much sense this early.

"I know you're awake," Kate said, and Ziva let her eyes open. She rolled over so she was facing Kate, and she could make out the faint glow of Kate's eyes through the blackness, "I'm naming him Asher."

Kate was six months pregnant and _positive _that her child was a boy. Ziva never asked why Kate thought so. She could tell that the other woman did not know her reasoning. She just _knew_. Apparently, most mothers had that feeling.

"Asher. That…that is a Hebrew name," Ziva's phrase broke in the middle as she yawned. She had met an Asher once―a boy of sixteen who had been far too eager to please and had gotten himself killed in a bombing. She did not tell Kate this though. There was no need to talk about such unhappy things before 6:00 a.m.

Kate shifted on the bed, "I know. It means 'blessed'. Because that's what he is―a blessing." She sounded _almost _completely sure of herself, but Ziva was far less sure. A child who would forever make them (And if not both of them, than at least her) think of torture and pain. That was not really a blessing―for any of them.

It was as though Kate could hear the thoughts rattling about in Ziva's head, as if the Israeli woman was screaming them, "Everything will work out, Ziva. We're both going to love this little boy so much. He's never going to have to know."

"Stay here tonight? I cannot sleep," Ziva asked, because she always managed to sleep better with Kate's warm body so close to her own. It was nice to know there was another heart beating besides her own in the room. Plus, she _really _wanted to change the subject.

Kate pulled the sheets over her body in response, and muttered, "We'll be good mothers Ziva." It sounded half like a statement, half like a question. And Ziva sighed and rolled over, holding on to her spare pillow.

"We can only hope."

She fell asleep to the sound of Kate breathing.

XXX

Kate broke down on a Monday afternoon.

She had been strong the whole almost-eight months of her pregnancy, so it startled Ziva when the brunette broke into sobs as she sat on the couch.

Instinctively, Ziva pulled Kate close, holding her as tightly as she could without hurting her. She let Kate sob, let hot tears soak into her shoulder. She didn't say a word, didn't ask what wrong. Ziva knew that this was hard on Kate. It was hard on both of them.

They sat there on the couch and Kate cried for over an hour, letting out all of the tears she had refused to cry over the last eight months. Ziva's hand slid under the brunette's shirt, running over her back. She traced the scars there, counting them in her head.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven._

Eleven scars criss-crossed her back like a tic-tac-toe game gone wrong. Ziva traced them over and over again, listening to Kate cry and silently cursing Ari and Salim and _everyone _for doing this to Kate. She did not deserve it. No one deserved it. Especially not her.

"I don't…I don't know if I can do this."

The weakness in Kate's voice only made Ziva madder, and she grabbed Kate's shoulders in her hands. Her voice was startlingly firm and calm as she said, "You have always told me that everything will be okay. You have convinced me that this child will have a good life. There is no way that you are going to break down now."

Kate whipped tears from her eyes and nodded, straightening her back as much as she could, "You're right. I…I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize. It is a sign of weakness," Ziva said, not really thinking about it. After she said it, though, a faint smile tugged at Kate's lips.

Before they knew it, they were both laughing loudly, unrestrained. It made Ziva's sides hurt, and she was not positive why they were laughing in the first place.

But it was better than crying.

XXX

"I do not know why I am here right now. Why you want me here. I…I am not going to be any help at all with this child."

Ziva looked down the sleeping infant, his dark hair messy, tiny hands folded, eyes closed. He was beautiful, but she thought of Somalia each time she looked at him. It was horrible to place that on Asher's shoulders, but she could not _forget_.

She did not see Kate shift positions, but she heard it. She felt it when the brunette's hand brushed against her own, fingers running along Ziva's, searching. Finally, the Israeli opened her hand and allowed her fingers to lace with Kate's, holding on tightly.

"You're here because I need you," Kate murmured, and Ziva resisted the urge to turn and face her. That would break the quiet connection between them, "You're here because…_this_ wouldn't be a family without you."

Ziva looked up then, and Kate gave her a grim yet sincere smile. After a moment, Ziva returned the expression before letting her head fall again, "Us. A family." It sounded so _wrong _and so _right _at the same time (Of course, that's what she and Kate were, after all. They were two women that were so completely 'wrong' simply because most of their 'right' had been torn away). Quietly, she repeated, "A family. I…I like that."

Kate simply squeezed her hand.

**-Fin-**

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